


Bitter Reflection

by Cassie Morgan (BADFalcon)



Category: Good Charlotte
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-13
Updated: 2004-10-13
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8750938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BADFalcon/pseuds/Cassie%20Morgan
Summary: Joel doesn’t like what he sees in his reflection and struggles to cope when the cracks leave the mirror





	

**Author's Note:**

> This... is not the story I set out to tell, I don;t what what the story I set out to tell was. But this is the happiest I've been with the fic in over a year and I'm confident that this version of it is utterly finished and ready for reading!

Not bothering to wipe the sleep from his eyes, Joel stumbled into the bathroom and leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He stared at himself for long minutes before sighing and shaking his head; he didn’t look sick, but he was. Completely and utterly sick in the head. He’d had another one of those dreams, one of those dreams with Benji, where they were doing things that twins should most definitely not being doing. At least not with each other. 

His breath caught in his throat, finding it suddenly hard to breath, the air feeling heavy, as though he was breathing a thick liquid rather than air. He lifted his hand to the mirror, rubbing away the steam his breath had left, a low moan escaping him when his mind projected Benji’s reflection, grinning back at him in the mirror. Panic shot through him and he picked up his deodorant, using the can to smash the mirror again and again, shards of glass cutting his arms as it broke. His legs turned to jelly, refusing to support him and he clutched the edge of the sink but was unable to hold himself up, falling heavily to the cold, tiled floor. 

Unbidden, his mind drifted back to the dream he’d just woken up from, a dream where he and Benji had done… unmentionable things in front of a full-length mirror. In his dream, Joel had just gotten out the shower and was standing in front the mirror styling his hair, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. Benji had walked up behind him, arms around his waist, head resting on his shoulder, tongue flickering out to taste a droplet of water clinging to his neck. 

“I like the way you think, baby” Benji had commented, his hands dropping Joel’s towel to the floor, fingers curling around Joel’s erection. “I’ve never watched us fuck in a mirror before!” As he spoke, his cock had slid into Joel’s body. And that was when Joel had woken up. 

Feeling the bile rising in his stomach, Joel ran a shaky hand through his hair, pushing himself to his knees and crawling across the tiles, only just making it to the toilet when he was sick. Moaning, Joel curled up on the floor, trembling, silent tears streaming down his face. “No,” he whimpered. “Wrong. Fucking twins not… no… not fucking, definitely not fucking… Bad Joel. Bad Joel. Wrong. Wrong. Bad Joel.”

“Joel?” Benji called as he turned the door handle, frowning when he found it locked. “Joel?” he called again, knocking on the door. "You ok?"

Joel whimpered at the sound, eyes fixed on the door. “No,” he moaned softly, curling into a tighter ball, rocking backward and forward, hands covering his ears as he tried to block out the concerned tone of Benji's voice.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” Benji knocked on the door again. "I heard you being sick." He rattled the door handle again, worrying knotting in his stomach when Joel still didn't answer him. "Joel?" 

Ignoring Benji, Joel slowly uncurled, gripping on the toilet seat as he hauled himself to his feet, wincing as he stood on one of the fragments of broken glass. He slammed the seat back down and sat on it, pulling the glass from his foot and pressing a wad of toilet paper against the wound, swearing at the sharp pain that shot through it. Carefully stepping through the glass, Joel opened the bathroom cabinet, eyes falling on the bottle of aspirin on the shelf. He grabbed the bottle and shook out a handful of pills, throwing them down his throat, and then washing them down with a mouthful of water. 

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Joel sat back down on the toilet seat, his head resting against the wall, arms wrapped around his stomach as he listened to Benji in the other room, his footsteps faint as he paced, pausing every so often to knock on the bathroom door again, shaking the handle, asking Joel if he was ok. 

Fresh tears fell at Benji's innocent question; Joel knew he wasn't ok. Knew he was far from OK. "Not OK," he muttered. "Very not OK. Wrong. Sick." He shook his head, coughing softly, the light reflecting on the broken glass catching his eyes. "Doesn't need to know. Can't know. Need to clean up." He continued muttering to himself as he stood up. "Bad Joel. But Benji good. Benji clean, not dirty. Benji can't know how bad…" He started picking the pieces of glass up and dumping them in the bin, determined to tidy the room up, so that Benji couldn't see what he'd done.

One of the shards of glass cut the palm of Joel's hand, blood welling to the surface. He hissed at the stab of pain, and then frowned, staring fixatedly at the crimson droplet, nibbling thoughtfully on his lower lip. “Got to get it out,” he muttered, moving the point of the glass to his inner arm. “Bad Joel,” he repeated, clenching his teeth against the pain as he dug the glass in, dragging it along the skin, watching as the blood welled to the surface, a thin red line along his arm. Nodding to himself, Joel made a second, and then a third cut. "Get it out," he mumbled, repeating the three cuts on the other arm, a shiver running through him at the thudding pain, eyes watching the blood running down his arm to drip on the floor, the red harsh against the white tiles. A moan of pain left his lips and he dropped the glass to the floor, the shattering echoing in the small room. 

Benji’s head shot up at the faint sound of breaking glass and he jumped out of the chair, straight back to the door. “Joel?” He called louder, rattling the door handle. “Joel, come on. Open the door and talk to me.” He slammed his hand against the door. “Joel?”

A burst of hysterical laughter was his reply; laughter followed by a long low moan and a dull thud, followed by more crushing crash. The hair on the back of Benji’s neck stood up and the feeling of dread in his stomach increased. “Joel?” He could hear a note of panic in his voice but couldn’t help it; he had a horrible feeling something was wrong with Joel. “Joel, what the fuck are you doing in there?” He sighed when there was still no response, resting his forehead against the door. “You’re scaring me here, Joel. Talk to me. Please?”

Joel still didn’t reply and Benji opened his mouth to call out to him again, when a sharp pain stabbed him in the stomach and he sank to his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach. “Oh fuck,” he whimpered, breath coming in hard fast pants, his vision swimming with white spots. Moaning, he pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his hands across his face, eyes widening at the red smears on the white wood of the door. He touched the smears, frowning at the sticky feel to them, bringing his fingers to his face, more smears of red on his wrists catching his eye. “No…” He shook his head, sickened at the smell of blood, and the sight of it running down his inner arm. “Joel… No… What the fuck… Don’t you dare.” He threw his whole weight against the door, crashing into it with his shoulder, relieved when it splintered. “Joel, I’m coming in,” he shouted, repeatedly smashing and kicking the door until it creaked and gave way, the wood shattering. 

Kicking the door in, Benji stepped into the bathroom and froze, face paling and eyes widening. “No…” he moaned, shaking his head and dropping to the floor, cradling Joel’s still, bloodied form. “Joel…”


End file.
